THERE ARE warashi-loads and warashi-loads of data available on the Amerindians. A selected bibliography published recently in this column runs to eleven pages. Data on the Amerindians is important as part of the whole (Guyanese patrimony). More useful, however, is the distillation of data into poetry, fiction and other genres of writing which will elicit a wider readership, greater understanding of things Amerindian, and wider participation in things Amerindian. 

A Merry Indian No More
Basil Rodriguez

I see the light of a new day
It is coming my way
To my timid mind I dread the changes it brings
I’m a merry Indian no more

I live in the path of change
In my old and carefree way
Confused and bewildered I strive to understand
I’m a merry Indian no more

The light has scorched my mind
And my eyes are yet blind
I grope to find the truth of which I’m not sure
I’m a merry Indian no more

Chorus:
A carefree life I’ve lived
Hunting the forest land, the river bed
A new light shines today
Which threatens my traditional way.

The Carib’s Complaint
Henry G. Dalton
Land of the jaguar, the parrot, and palm
Land of the forest, savannah, and plain!
Where is the stillness, majestic and calm,
Which once our Guiana saw peacefully reign?
Where is the hunting-ground, where is the field
For us and our children subsistence to yield?

1 stand on the heights where my forefathers stood.
I gaze on the wide rivers rolling below;
I turn to the jungle and flourishing wood.
Where morass and palm trees their broad shadows throw;
But where are the tribes of the red man now seen,
Chasing the wild deer through its avenues green?

I muse by the waters, swift rolling and dark,
And mark the unceasing and regular tide
But where the canoe, and the tree-fashion’d bark,
Which once o’er these waters used swiftly to glide?
And where is the helmsman, and where are the
crew.
That fearless and calm through its cataracts flew?

Through Arawak Eyes
David Campbell
Through Arawak eyes I’ve long watched
your high grey Northland cities
and the pale ones running in circles
as if the Sun was a story
that they have never been told —
Through Arawak eyes
Through Arawak eyes…
Through Arawak eyes…

Through Arawak eyes I’ve watched
the southern morning breaking
over the wide Atlantic
in a silver northbound plane
where the scarlet sky knew nothing
of brown men down below dying
and wished Columbus had turned
his tall ships back forever
to the cursed shores of Spain
Through Arawak eyes…
Through Arawak eyes…

Through Arawak eyes I learned
of life from a gentle man
brown from the touch of the sun
who walked the green forests of Guyana
like a king in his palace in the sun
where no anthems could ever stop him
and the world from being one —
Through Arawak eyes…
Through Arawak eyes…

Amerindian
Ian Mcdonald
I think of woodskins, I think
Of quick arrows. I think
Of things Indian. And still
I think of their bright, still
Summers when these hills
And meadows on these hills
Shone in the morning
Suns before this morning.

The Hammock Maker
(An Indian eclogue)
Egbert Martin
Bowed with age and feebleness,
Crowned with locks all silvery white
Eyes o dim and lustreless
Slowly sinking in life’s night.
Crooning over bygone days
When his feeble limbs were strong…
Younger braves are proudly telling
Conquests over many foes
Hung amid the trees in numbers
Soothe their inmates’ dreamy slumbers…
So he sits, and deftly weaveth
All the careless hours away
While dear mem’ry’s voice conceiveth
Stories of a bygone day.

The writers Rodrigues, Campbell and Martin were born Guyanese. Campbell and Rodrigues are of the Arawak nation. Guyana is the adopted home of McDonald. Dalton was born in a British colony, educated in England, and lived for a while in Guyana.
The above bits of poetry should encourage further reading, research and scholarship on the Amerindian.

(To respond to this author, either call him on (592) 226-0065 or send him an email: oraltradition2002@yahoo.com)